


A Slash of Green

by AnAvgAthr



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Book: Shadows Rising - Madeleine Roux Spoilers, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tags Are Hard, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAvgAthr/pseuds/AnAvgAthr
Summary: A gilded cage gave the Spymaster plenty of time to think. Now that he's been returned home, it's time to act: Flynn is waiting at the Gilded Rose, and Mathias Shaw is ready to tell him what he's learned in their time apart. But y'know, over charcuterie.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	A Slash of Green

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! 
> 
> I had originally planned on making this the first chapter of a Slow Burn of some sort, but ultimately that idea burned out and I'd rather post this as a stand-alone. I sat on edits for this for way too long, and at this point I just want to share it. Yet another take on the Gilded Rose, where Mathias tries to learn how to express himself delicately and Flynn learns how to interpret the Spymaster of the Alliance expressing himself delicately. 
> 
> Written post-Shadows Rising but pre-Terror by Torchlight. I hope you enjoy!

It had been a busy afternoon – it was just earlier today that Mathias had arrived with the merchant vessel contracted to bring him back to the alabaster city of Stormwind. He had then spent the better part of his day with the King, the Lord Admiral, and several of the Alliance’s top military commanders debriefing his time in Dazar’alor as well as the _gift_ that the Horde had sent him along with. A couple wellness checks from various medics, including an analysis for any type of enchantments or controlling substances, and Mathias was cleared for return to active duty to begin the following day. His healers were thorough, and sent him along shortly before 4 bells.

Which, he had supposed, was enough time to get home and prepare himself for the evening. Having stopped to wash up and change, he made it to the Trade District as the sun began to dip behind the Stormwind Cathedral. The golden glow of the sunset cast the town square into amber shadows; merchants were loading their wares from various auctions and trades, and Mathias swam through the packed town square carefully avoiding the large carts and the people and horses bearing them.

The Gilded Rose would be a bit quieter as the evening fell, and he looked forward to a respite from the day’s events. And if he were being honest with himself, a part of him ached to see Flynn again. Being trapped between golden bars had given him a lot of time to think: he knew the calculated risks and exposure he was getting himself into, but Flynn was a capable man. Loud, lackadaisical, and a bit unpredictable, but extremely capable. He allowed himself to run through the list of challenges he already maintained in his mind, answering each one in turn. He moved through the crowd like an oiled shadow slipping between bodies.

Ever alert, he noticed Flynn first standing outside of the Gilded Rose by the mailbox. He looked just as he had when he greeted Mathias on the docks of the Stormwind Harbor, after unceremoniously pushing past the High King. The captain leaned against the mailbox casually, his eyes scanning the crowd while he fidgeted with something in his left hand. A small slash of green against his fingertips revealed a lone blade of grass, which he twirled and smoothed between his fingers idly.

Shaw emerged from the crowd, offering a slight wave to stand out among the throng of people. His eyes caught Flynn’s, and the taller man pushed himself off of the mailbox and trotted toward Mathias before throwing his arms around him again in a very tight hug. The Spymaster returned the embrace just as he had on the docks, slowly encircling the freebooter and carefully figuring out where to place his arms against the heavy duster jacket. That familiar smell of whiskey, salt and soap settled upon his senses and he breathed him in, unconsciously holding just a bit tighter before releasing Flynn.

Flynn’s bright smile was uncontainable as he let go. “Almost didn’t recognize you without those ginormous shoulder pads of yours!” He patted where Mathias’s pauldrons normally lie with his open hand, as if to prove the point. Mathias had indeed redressed since this afternoon, trading in his uniform for something much less conspicuous: A simple cloth tunic and pants, nothing flashy. He definitely didn’t resemble the same man he admired from afar during the campaign in Boralus; this version of Master Shaw was much more casual, subdued, and rather unremarkable. One might even dare to say _human_.

“You know,” Fairwind quipped, “I’ve been trying to figure this thing out all day.” He held the blade of grass up, twirling it with a flourish before batting it at the spy’s nose. Mathias flinched away, making a bit of a sour face as he avoided the ticklish frond.

“Well,” Mathias said while waiving off the attacking blade of grass. “You’re welcome to ask me about it inside.” Shaw smiled and reestablished composure, moving to hold open the door to the Rose. Flynn’s surprise at the gesture lasted only a split second before he headed inside, leaving the noise of the Trade District behind.

The Gilded Rose was quaint; more of a day-time stop for lunches as traders and craftsmen went about their afternoon. It was ideal for meetings in the evening though, quieting down significantly as the district emptied and merchants disappeared into the night. It was Shaw’s preference to avoid the more commonly trafficked Inns like the Pig and Whistle when he wanted to avoid being seen, and it was a comfortable distance from home with ample time to lose a tail in either direction. And while the Rose didn’t have a traditional dinner menu, he knew the innkeeper well enough to know she did have a decent selection of ales from the Dwarven District as well as some of the finer wines and whiskeys in Stormwind off-menu. The smell of fresh fruits, meats, cheeses, and other sundries wafted through the Inn as they made their way to a table opposite of the door.

A woman of standard stature and short red hair approached their table, and began placing glasses, plates, and silverware. “Evening, Master Shaw! What can I do for you and your friend here, Master…” she paused politely, sending a devastatingly charismatic smile at Flynn.

“Fairwind. Flynn, please. Flynn Fairwind! Pleasure,” he said, extending the hand fondling the grass. His eyes widened as he realized, placing the grass down on the table. The server took the proffered hand, shaking it politely. Flynn’s eyes darted from hers to Mathias’s and back again. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Flynn. I’m Allison, welcome to the Gilded Rose. What can I get for you?” Mathias exchanged pleasantries, ordering various charcuterie and a bottle of Dalaran Noir. Allison nodded, dismissing herself and making short work of the order.

“So, what’s the deal with this, Shaw? Is it okay that the Innkeeper saw it? Is it a spy thing? _Do we have to kill her?_ It’s lovely, but I’m uh… a bit lost,” Flynn said, brandishing the grass blade. His shoulders hunched, his elbows resting on the table, he conducted an imaginary orchestra with the green baton. His eyes locked with Shaw’s own, and for the first time since it’s conception Mathias wondered if this was _truly_ a good idea. He quickly stifled that doubtful thought – he would be lying if he hadn’t been most excited to return to Stormwind for safety, a warm shower, and Flynn (likely in that order). Safety and a warm shower were checked off already.

“No, we most certainly do not have to kill her,” Mathias said with a chuckle. Allison returned with a basket of bread, some honey-butter, a tray of sliced fruits and cured meats, as well as cheeses and nuts and olives. Mathias made idle chit-chat while she did; the usual pleasantries, rumors and gossip from the nobles visiting the Trade District. She made quick work of the corking, pouring a rich and full-bodied red wine from a bottle before excusing herself.

“One of the guards gave me this, actually. Not much to do in a jail cell except think, to be honest. It’s quite the boring tale.” Mathias picked at some of the fruits immediately, wrapping a slice of apple with cheese in what looked like thin slices of pork. He recounted the story from when he was taken from the beaches, the time spent in the jail cell. Flynn seemed baffled by the idea of a barren jail cell with minimal comforts made of _pure gold_. He interjected more than once, asking if he had managed to swipe anything. 

“By day three I had been counting the bricks that had made up the ceiling. One of them looked like the hull of the Bold Arva, and I thought of you. I was so worried if you had made it away safely, if I had bought you enough time. I was worried that those cursed storms would prevent you from leaving Zandalar, or worse. And all I could do was think.” For what felt like the first time in Shaw’s life, Flynn was quiet. He was rapt with attention, scarfing down a slice of buttered bread and chasing it with a healthy gulp of the Dalaran Noir.

“I was supposed to take a vacation soon. I suppose, if the King allows, I can still take it. And if you’re able,” Mathias inhaled slowly, letting out the anxiety building in his chest in a single, steady breath. “I would love for you to accompany me to the Highlands. I could… I could use a friend.” He cleared his throat, dislodging tension that had nestled there.

Flynn blushed, although for a moment Shaw wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or the last few lingering drops in Flynn’s glass that were to blame. Mathias continued, feeling nervous heat beginning to nip at the back of his neck. He gestured to the blade of grass, resting on the table. “In some parts of the Eastern Kingdoms, there’s a coded language in flowers. I’m sure you’ve seen red roses given for romance; someone in my line of work is more likely to receive a black rose as a threat. And,” he paused briefly to consider his wording. “Grass, as plain as it sounds, is supposed to represent particular interests. I fancy you, Flynn.”

Had he refilled his wine glass yet, Flynn might’ve shot wine clear across the tavern. Instead, he sputtered a bit like a fish on dry land. After a moment to ground himself, he grabbed the bottle and began topping up his glass again (and tipping some into Mathias’s as well). He then placed the bottle down, picked up his glass, and proceeded to tip half of it back in one drink.

His blue eyes locked in with the emerald ones staring back. There was a storm brewing behind Shaw’s eyes, uncertainty thundering behind his gaze. Flynn was a great read on people, but this was _Mathias Shaw,_ one of the most mysterious men on the planet. But there was no ulterior motive behind the deep green staring back at him – just honesty, and something else Flynn wasn’t sure he’d ever seen in the Spymaster’s eyes before. He found his footing again, his charisma and charm snapping back into place at once.

“Well, Mathias! I’d say you have questionable judgement but you and I’d know better. You recognize a catch when you see one,” he mused. “Had I known this would be a date, I would’ve cleaned up better. Maybe you do have questionable taste.” His eyes wandered down with the intention of grabbing something else to eat, and instead saw he had begun gently fidgeting with the blade of grass again. Funny how much something’s meaning could shift so quickly. Whereas his fingers before would play with it like a puzzle searching for a clue, now they gently caressed and smoothed out some of the ridges he had accidentally bent into the blade.

“Far be it from me to complain, though. You’ve been a distracting sight since the Redemption pulled up to our docks, if I’m terribly honest.” Flynn let just a little bit of wind out of his sails, his honesty overtaking his ego momentarily. “Thought I was going to keel over during the Tide Scepter job. Do you know what your butt actually looks like in those leather pants? _Do you?_ ”

And just like that, Mathias’s social footing was swept out from underneath of him. Now it was his turn to blush. “They’re precisely tailored,” he mumbled, shoving a grape into his mouth for an excuse to not reply. By the same measure, it felt like a whole Moonkin had been lifted off his shoulders as his admission was responded to in kind. He rolled his shoulders in his chair and slouched slightly. “I’ll be honest. I had everything planned up until that moment. I’ll admit this is not my strong suit.”

Flynn watched as the man practically deflated across from him, stress and tense muscles giving way to some relaxation. There was still the uncertainty, the unknown that stormed behind the façade, but he could see the way Mathias at least attempted to relax.

“I’m a patient man, Mathias Shaw. But I’m not the kind of man who _plans_ , you might say.” He let go of the memento in his hands, extending them across the table with an upward palm, inviting Shaw to take them. “Always been a bit rubbish with that. But, I’m willing to figure it out together if you are.”

Shaw looked down at the captain’s rough hands. His thoughts ran in thousands of directions at once, every doubt and bad idea rushing back to the forefront. His instinct told him that this would get one, or both of them killed some day. Mathias was a dangerous man, this was a foolish endeavor. But then he looked into the piercing ocean blue eyes looking back at him expectantly, and they vanished. Those bad thoughts were swallowed by the deep pools staring back at him, and he met Flynn’s hands on the table.

His palms were lightly calloused from years of working on ships, swinging cutlasses and picking locks, but they were extremely gentle. Flynn closed his thumbs overtop of Mathias’s hands, gently caressing the Spymaster’s. They were soft, with sharp white lines that whispered battle scars and training mishaps, and maybe more. What didn’t escape his notice though was the way that Shaw’s skin turned to gooseflesh when he touched him lightly.

The gentle pressure on the back of Mathias’s hands caused warmth to spread up his arms and nestle deep in his stomach, tossing in the oddest of ways. It was new, unusual, not entirely unwelcome but not quite welcome, either. He involuntarily flinched slightly, fighting the urge to pull his hands away.

“Well,” Fairwind commented, tracing a long white scar along the pale skin, “I don’t really know how to be romantic past this hand-holdey business, but I’m really glad you took me out tonight, Mathias.” He released the smaller man’s hands, returning to the plates before them. He grabbed a small wedge of cheese and an olive, popping them into his mouth. “I’ve been planning on staying in Stormwind for a bit – no need for me to return to Boralus quite yet, what with Azerite drying up. Cyrus’ll be happy to have the dock slip back for a bit while the Bold Arva is docked in Stormwind. Looks like I’m a free man for a bit longer! Well, maybe not as free.” He returned a sly wink as he nursed the remainder of his wine.

Flynn continued to fill the silence as they ate and drank, recounting how he had escaped squalls and storms as the crew of the Bold Arva fled Zandalar. Shaw was fairly certain which of the moments were exaggerated, although whether willful extensions of fact or drunken blackout he wasn’t entirely sure. Apparently Flynn had not taken his loss well, but thankfully hadn’t gone to war with the Horde in an effort to get him back. The dark circles under his eyes and the slighter figure that hugged him made more sense now; it agonized Mathias to think of him in such a state.

As Fairwind concluded his story, they had picked over most of the meal and the bottle was down to the dregs. Mathias procured some gold coins, leaving them on the table with their dishes and empty glasses. The cool evening air brought a bit of a chill with it, but it was bracing against the warmth of the wine that lingered.

“It’s a long walk to the docks. Can I escort you back to your ship?” Mathias stood with more professionalism than was necessary between friends, his hands clasped behind him. You could clearly take the man out of the uniform, but perhaps removing the uniform from the man was a bit more difficult.

“Trying to take me home already, Mathias? Cheeky is what that is,” he said, shouldering his side slightly as they began to walk together. Shaw’s eyes went wide, and Flynn nearly split a seam in laughter. “Oh! Oh, you should see your face,” he laughed, doubling over. Mathias grumbled something about being ‘forward’ and Flynn paid it no mind.

“I’m joking, Shaw. Relax. Well, partially joking. You’re a rather handsome fellow and I’m very glad you’re home. But we don’t need to rush anything. I’m willing to wait, we can take it slow,” he said, throwing one arm around the smaller man’s shoulder and leading him toward the canals. “The Alliance has _very_ kindly set me up while figuring out what was happening with you. The place is right next to the Tailor’s shop ‘round the bend. And because you’re a perfect gentleman, I’ll even let you walk me home tonight,” he said with amusement.

He pulled Shaw closer as they walked, and it wasn’t lost on him again that he could feel the tension as Mathias would feel the gentle tug. It wasn’t reluctance – Flynn knew that much immediately. This was something else… although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The Spymaster was sure to be full of puzzles: this would just have to be one he uncovered over time.

They made their way along the canals, the last vestiges of the setting sun disappearing over the city skyline. Mathias joked about the crocolisks in the sewers, and Flynn’s eyes turned to dinner plates. “Surely not! What if they just came up to the docks and ate someone? Wait, have you ever disappeared someone by feeding them to the crocolisks?” Mathis chuckled, feeling the light jostle against his shoulders where Flynn still remained attached to him.

Mathias, of course, could neither confirm nor deny those allegations. “I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

It wasn’t long before they stood before Flynn’s front door, a silence drawing between them. Flynn searched Mathias for some kind of read, but he was as complex as ever. To be fair, he supposed the Spymaster would have a pretty good Hearthstone face. 

“I’d invite you up for coffee, Master Shaw, but it sounds like you’ve had a bit of a day, mate.” His voice was gentle. If Mathias wanted for an out, this would be it. Which, it appeared, he would be availing himself of.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my own bed,” Mathias sighed. The idea of sinking his head into his pillows was extremely appealing, and the exhaustion from a rigorous day of sailing, debriefing and examinations had taken it’s toll. “But thank you, Flynn. For tonight. And for listening. This is all new to me and I’m a bit out of my depth.” He tilted up slightly to smile at him. They had drifted apart as they approached the apartment, standing under the awning of Flynn’s temporary home.

“It’s okay, Mathias. Really. For now,” he extended open arms in an inviting hug. “I’m just glad you’re home. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you.” It was an honest admission, and a deep one. It tugged at Shaw’s heartstrings and the gravity of it pulled him in. This time, Mathias found purchase first, wrapping his arms around Flynn’s midsection and tucking his head against the captain’s shoulder.

Flynn embraced him, cupping the copper-haired man to his shoulder. He could feel a deep, unsteady breath from Mathias as his hand gently found rest on Shaw’s head. The breath exhaled slowly, tickling Flynn’s neck and the condensing heat warming against his skin in the cool night air. Flynn took him in, feeling the warmth against him, the strong muscles of Shaw’s back under the cotton tunic. He smelled like vanilla, mint, and leather, mingled with the remnants of the Trade District’s more fragrant trades in perfumes and cooked meats.

Mathias pulled away slightly, leaving one arm still wrapped around Flynn. That look he had observed during dinner was back, uncertainty painted across the spy’s face. That foreign emotion that Flynn couldn’t quite put his finger on. But here, without the stories or the meal or the cute innkeeper to distract him, he saw it for what it was.

_I trust you._

Shaw looked up, that uncertainty meeting Flynn’s warm and charming grin. His free hand searched upward, stopping just short of cupping Flynn’s jaw.

For Flynn, it echoed his own years of abuse as an orphan – hollow now, but the faint memory of being so incredibly alone. Vulnerability and weakness meant you’d lose your share of food for the day, get beaten, or worse. The Spymaster may be a revered and celebrated war veteran, but he was also a tool of war for the Alliance. When was the last time anyone had ever treated him as anything more?

“I’m not gonna explode, mate. Well, not just from you touching my face,” Flynn remarked quietly. It was a joke, but also permission. He reached up to grab Mathias’s hand, letting it join and connect with his cheek. He leaned his head into it, closing his eyes slightly.

He could feel Shaw’s thumb tracing the sharp edge of his cheekbone, handling him as though he might break. When he opened his eyes again, he was met with piercing green eyes searching his face, drinking in his soft expression. Flynn couldn’t stop the toothy grin that overtook him seeing the spymaster’s lips parted slightly as he explored.

“If you _really_ fancy me, you’re allowed to kiss me on the first da-“ was all Flynn managed to get out before Mathias was leaning into him, pressing lips to his. Flynn instinctively pulled him closer, pressing them chest to chest. The moment itself was not quick, but it was chaste: a flurry of quick kisses planted against him in rapid succession, slowing into longing ones, which he met in kind. It was delicate, it was careful, it was both nothing like and somehow _exactly_ like he had expected Shaw might be like. Reserved, cautious, curious.

They pulled apart, heat blooming to the surface of Shaw’s blushing cheeks. His breathing was surprisingly labored, as though he had forgotten to breathe. Whether that was from before or during the kiss, Flynn wasn’t sure.

“I do. Fancy you. There’s about a thousand reasons I shouldn’t and top of them is that you drive me _insane_ quite often, but that’s not always a bad thing.” Mathias’s smile was still guarded, but his eyes carried that same trustworthiness that belied his expression. It might’ve been the wine or the extremely long day, but Shaw found himself fighting a yawn, surrounded by Flynn’s warm embrace.

Flynn experimentally stroked Shaw’s back and held the copper-haired man tight before Mathias finally pulled away. “You need to kip off to bed there, Spymaster. Can’t have you falling asleep in the canals and getting eaten before sunrise,” he jested. He reached for his front door and turned the key, the tumblers within clicking into place. “And coffee at this hour would have you awake until midnight.”

Mathias scoffed a bit as he stepped off of the porch, eyes glancing down at the cobblestone beneath his feet. “I think you severely underestimate my relationship with caffeine, Captain.” He looked back up at Flynn, having recomposed himself. “But nonetheless I should be on my way. Good night, Flynn.”

“I think _you_ severely underestimate the potency of my _coffee_ , Master Shaw,” Flynn teased with a waggle of his eyebrows punctuating his innuendo. “Go on, off to bed with you! See you in the afternoon, Mathias. Sleep well, and welcome home.”

Once inside, the freebooter stood for a moment, shaking his head to try and gain some clarity. The enigmatic Mathias Shaw was a mortal man after all. And, not surprisingly, Flynn found himself more than a little smitten. He had long admired the Spymaster, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about what those tight leathers had been hiding from him. But the most surprising, perhaps, were the silent tells. The way that Shaw’s body responded to Flynn’s touch, the hesitancy and delicacy with which he returned those meaningful connections.

The spy was no doubt a master of subterfuge – if he hadn’t wanted Flynn to see something, he would’ve kept it from him. Patience would indeed be a virtue, though. For now, he simply tried to slow his quickly beating heart and focus on how he was going to distract himself for the rest of an evening. For once, turning to a bottle didn’t seem like the most endearing way to spend the night.


End file.
